Married To Darkness-Chapter 383: Jennifer Khanna’s Burnt Ashes

The moans and groans continued from inside the cottage.

Lucius marched forward, shoulders squared like a soldier facing war. He raised his fist and banged on the door with the force of a hundred insults.

The creaking stopped.

Dead silence.

Another knock. This one louder. Sharper. "Linz!" Lucius shouted. "Open this door before I break it down!"

Inside, frantic scrambling. A thump. A muffled curse. More movement—fabric being yanked, furniture shifting.

Alaric snorted. "I think he’s trying to get decent."

"Decent won’t save him if he doesn’t open the damn door," Lucius hissed.

A few heartbeats later, the door creaked open just a sliver, and one very flushed, very shirtless Linz Balusamy poked his head out.

His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his chest.

"...Mother?" he blinked. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Lucius snapped. "But we’re not your mother. We’re the people whose friend was stolen by the cursed fog. And you’re going to help us."

Linz blinked, still clearly processing reality. "Wait—what? Stolen?"

A second head popped out behind him. A young woman, half-wrapped in a bedsheet, peering out with curiosity.

"Should I... go?" she asked awkwardly.

"Yes," Lucius said instantly.

Linz sighed, rubbing his face. "This is not how I thought my night would go."

Alaric stepped forward. "Neither did ours. But one of our people is missing, taken by something your town has no idea about. And we were told you might be the only person here who does."

Linz sobered immediately, his posture straightening, eyes narrowing.

"...Come in."

They stepped past him into the cottage. The inside was warm, wooden, with bookshelves and an old fireplace that still smoldered.

But none of them were focused on the decor.

Salviana, still in Alaric’s arms, met Linz’s gaze. "We need answers."

Linz nodded slowly. "Then you’ll get them. But if what you’re saying is true... this is worse than I thought."

Salviana sat curled in Alaric’s lap near the dim hearth, her fingers wound tightly in the fabric of his coat. Lucius paced back and forth across the worn wooden floor, his boots echoing with a staccato rhythm of frustration and fear.

Linz sat on a low stool by the fire, hands clasped loosely, face drawn and pale. Despite the heat in the room, his breath was shallow—as though the mere memory of what he was about to recount stole the air from his lungs.

"I believe this fog first appeared over seven decades ago," Linz finally said, voice low.

Alaric’s brows drew together. "What brought it?"

Linz hesitated only a moment before answering, "A witch."

Lucius scoffed with a humorless laugh. "Well, that wasn’t a very good era for witches."

"No," Alaric agreed, his voice a soft growl. "And this society isn’t any kinder. But at least now, witches aren’t burned alive in the streets."

Linz gave a bitter chuckle. "You say that, yet the story I’m about to tell you is soaked in fire and blood. Some say it never ended."

Salviana’s body tensed in Alaric’s arms. "What happened?"

"I’ve heard rumors," Linz said slowly, "that the demon prince’s wife was a witch. They say that if she had lived eighty years ago, she’d be dead already. People don’t forgive easily here, and they never forget what they fear."

A silence blanketed the room, tense and thick. Then Lucius cleared his throat awkwardly. "So—what exactly do you know? You speak like someone who’s lived it."

Linz exhaled and looked into the flames. "I’ve read. Every scrap I could find. Old books. Letters. Lore passed by frightened elders who would rather forget. Stories carved into the wood of pews in the old chapel. Symbols hidden in gravestones. I wanted answers. I needed them."

Salviana leaned in slightly. "Why?"

Linz met her gaze, and for a moment, his eyes shimmered—not with light, but with something ancient and secret. "Because I think I’m one of them."

The silence that followed was electric.

"One of who?" Alaric asked.

"A descendant. Of magic," Linz said, voice softer now. "I needed to understand why I felt... wrong. Out of place. Why the fog never came for me. Why sometimes I see it... move."

Salviana’s grip on Alaric’s coat tightened. "Then tell us. Everything."

Linz swallowed hard and began.

"She was called Jennifer Khanna. A healer. A midwife. A woman who lived outside the city walls with her two children—a boy, maybe ten, and a blind girl who was said to see things others could not. People came to her for aid in secret. And then they turned on her."

"Why?" Lucius asked, sharp.

"They blamed her for a child’s death. A noble’s son. The boy had drowned in the lake—chasing fireflies, they say. But his mother needed someone to blame. Jennifer had once given the boy a charm for protection. It floated beside him when his body was found."

Alaric growled under his breath. "So they burned her for mercy."

"They dragged her and her children to the cliff that juts into the sea. A small peninsula, where the winds cry loud and the gulls go silent. She was tied to a post. The children, too. She begged them to take her instead. But they—" Linz faltered, her voice breaking.

Salviana whispered, "They burned them all."

He nodded, hollow. "The girl wailed until her throat bled. The boy screamed for his mother. And Jennifer just... cried. She knew nothing she said would change their fate."

A single tear trailed down Salviana’s cheek.

"And when the fire took them, it wasn’t just wood that burned. The moment their screams stopped, a thick, black smoke billowed upward. It choked the crowd before they could even run. Some collapsed. Others clawed at their throats. Nearly two dozen died right there on the peninsula."

"My gods," Alaric muttered.

"And since that day," Linz said, voice now barely a whisper, "the fog has never left Wyfhaven."

Lucius leaned forward, knuckles white. "The fog... is her."

"I believe so," Linz nodded. "A spirit untethered, fueled by rage and sorrow. It steals from those who look like the ones who hurt her. And now... maybe it’s changing. Maybe it’s hungry for more than gold and bread."

"It took someone," Salviana murmured. "It took her. My friend."

Lucius clenched his jaw. "Why now? Why take a person after all this time?"

"I don’t know," Linz admitted. "But I think... she’s growing stronger. Or angrier. Or maybe something happened to stir her."

"Where was she burned?" Alaric asked.

"On the cliff I mentioned. The locals call it Wailer’s Edge," Linz said. "Because sometimes—on foggy nights—you can hear the children screaming."

Salviana shivered violently, and Alaric tightened his hold on her.

"What about the ashes?" Lucius asked.

Linz’s eyes turned grim. "Thrown into the small lake at the cliff’s base. It’s shallow but wide—and no one’s been able to enter it since. Boats capsize. Swimmers vanish. People say it pulls you under like hands made of mist."

"Then that’s where she is," Alaric said. "That’s where she rests."

"She doesn’t rest," Linz said darkly. "She waits."

A long silence stretched. The fire popped in the hearth.

"We need to find a way to communicate with her," Salviana said.

"Or rid her." Alaric added.

"I’m not making a deal with a vengeful ghost," Lucius snapped. "She came for trouble—she’ll get it."

"She came for justice," Alaric countered. "We just happen to be standing in the crossfire."

"I don’t care what she came for," Lucius said, his voice dark and steady. "She took someone I love. And now I’m going to help her rest in peace."

The flames danced in the hearth, casting shadows across their determined faces.